


Finding Eden

by Elvendork



Series: Their Own Side [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts AU, Marauders' Era, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: Anthony agrees to go to the seventh years for advice if it becomes absolutely necessary, but in the meantime there are flying lessons to be had, nicknames to be invented, and a castle to explore.





	Finding Eden

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been gathering dust in my WIP folder for a while. Perhaps sharing will encourage me to finish it...
> 
> Previously: Anthony Crowley and Aziraphale Stroulger met aboard the Hogwarts Express. The two quickly made friends, to widespread disapproval, being from a family of Dark wizards and Aurors respectively. After being sorted into Gryffindor they have so far met Lily Evans, Head Girl, and discussed going to Sirius Black for advice on overcoming family prejudice.

After a brief, hushed discussion as they make their way to the greenhouses, Anthony agrees to go to the seventh years for advice only as a last resort. Somehow the idea smacks of admitting defeat, and as close as he already was to despair only half an hour ago, Aziraphale’s support seems to have galvanised him to previously unknown levels of determination. He pointedly ignores every dark look and every murmured unpleasant comment directed towards them in the corridor, talking quickly and constantly to distract Aziraphale from noticing them. He keeps his hand ready to draw his wand at the first sign of real trouble.

Aziraphale, for his part, is more than aware of the attention they are still getting. He does his best, though, to look as if he is hanging onto Anthony’s every word. The illusion of conversation seems to have a calming effect on his friend. To all outside appearances the two of them move along in their own secluded bubble, apparently completely cut off from their surroundings, with eyes and ears only for each other.

They are five minutes late to Herbology, but within another ten Anthony has won back Professor Sprout’s affection and at least half the resentful looks from their classmates are the result of simple jealousy. Aziraphale is not exactly enraptured by the lesson, but Anthony lights up in a way Aziraphale was beginning to think was impossible. Anthony answers every question correctly and identifies every plant Professor Sprout puts in front of them. By the end of the lesson he has earned a total of fifteen House points, which if it only fuels the Slytherins’ dislike of him, seems at least to put a damper on the Gryffindor suspicions. He is absolutely in his element.

When the bell rings and the rest of the class hurry for the door, Anthony hangs back. Aziraphale, of course, waits with him. By the time Professor Sprout has congratulated Anthony on his knowledge and given him a list of books to check out of the library, they are the only two students left in the greenhouse. Which, Aziraphale reflects, was probably the whole point.

They exit the greenhouse confident that they have a clear walk up to the castle before having to face their fellow students again. 

The conviction lasts less than a minute. As soon as they are out of sight and earshot of Professor Sprout they are accosted by a group of five Slytherins – two on either side and one, who appears to be the leader, walking backwards in front of them.

‘Well that was fun, wasn’t it?’ he says, glancing conspiratorially at his cronies and then raising his eyebrows at Anthony. He, like Hastur at breakfast, ignores Aziraphale almost entirely.

‘Yes, it was a good lesson, wasn’t it?’ Anthony replies, a brittle challenge in his voice. 

‘All those points,’ the stranger muses. He is almost a head taller than Anthony and rake-thin, but with an obvious wiry sort of power about him. He has a pale face and dark hair that falls across his eyes in a way that would look clumsy, except for the fact it is obviously deliberate. He is vaguely familiar to Anthony, but he cannot find a name to go with the face. ‘Your housemates must be so proud.’

‘I could tutor you, if you like. You might earn some of your own then.’ Anthony tries to increase their pace, but the Slytherin in front refuses to move aside and maintains his own steady speed. He does not even bother to glance behind and see where he is going, confident that either his friends will warn him of incoming danger, or that anyone in the way wouldn’t dare stay there for long.

‘Oh but that would be betraying your new friends wouldn’t it? To fraternise with a _Slytherin_ , I mean really Crowley – or _are_ you a Crowley? Did I hear right at the Sorting? What _will_ your parents think?’

‘Do I actually know you?’ Anthony demands, for lack of anything better to say. He glances around fruitlessly for a teacher – an older student – anything.

‘So sorry,’ the Slytherin sketches a hasty false bow, still walking smoothly backwards. ‘Octavius Selwyn at your service. Perhaps my first order of business should have been to offer you some advice in the friendship department.’

‘I don’t –’ Aziraphale begins.

‘Shut up, Mudblood,’ Selwyn interrupts casually, not looking away from Anthony’s face.

‘He’s a pure blood,’ Anthony corrects automatically, wincing at how that sounds – as if it would have made a difference if he _wasn’t_. He wonders how quickly and how badly he would be hexed if he went for his wand. Would he even manage to get it out of his pocket before he was knocked unconscious? He is sure at least two of the Slytherins flanking them are third years.

‘Blood traitor, then,’ Selwyn stops, forcing Anthony and Aziraphale to do the same. ‘Same difference. And now you’ve thrown in your lot with _them_ , I suppose that makes you just as bad.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Aziraphale orders quietly. Anthony closes his eyes briefly in frustration. 

‘Or _what_?’ Selwyn challenges.

‘Or you’ll regret it.’

‘Aziraphale, _please_ –’ Anthony mutters, but neither of them seem to hear him.

‘Is that a threat, Stroulger?’

‘That depends.’

_‘Aziraphale.’_

‘On what?’

‘Are you afraid?’

‘Why in Merlin’s name would I be afraid of _you_?’

‘Well, you haven’t drawn your wand yet –’

‘Neither have you –’

‘And you seem to be making every effort to time the end of your little intimidation game so that you don’t get caught by the teachers.’

‘You –’

‘ _Stop_!’ Anthony shouts as Selwyn finally lunges for his wand, a look of utter fury on his face. Anthony steps hurriedly forwards, placing himself half in front of Aziraphale with his hands held up in a desperately placating gesture. True, at this point Selwyn knows about as much magic as they do, which is three lessons’ worth, but Anthony doesn’t doubt he could cause some damage if he wanted to.

‘Well would you look at that?’ says Selwyn coolly. ‘Apparently I’m not the one who’s afraid after all.’

‘Is that why you brought back-up? Because you’re so confident –’

‘Aziraphale, really, _be quiet_!’ Anthony snaps, with a frantic glance back towards his friend. _Come on_ , he thinks, _come on, someone has to see, we’re right out here in the open – anyone, please…_

‘Excuse me, Anthony,’ Aziraphale’s voice is quiet and perfectly calm. He steps around Anthony to face Selwyn with his wand in his hand.

‘Aziraphale, don’t –’

‘Go on, then,’ he encourages Selwyn, ‘jinx me.’

‘You’re not serious?’ Selwyn laughs, but even Anthony – whose attention is focused almost completely on how _utterly stupid_ Aziraphale is being – can hear the genuine hesitation beneath the veneer of disdain.

‘Why not?’

‘You – you’re not worth the effort.’

‘In that case, feel free to let us past any time you like.’

For ten seconds that seem like an age, Aziraphale – who has to crane his neck to manage it – stares at Selwyn with his eyebrows raised, wand held by his side, waiting. Selwyn’s hands clench into fists apparently of their own accord and a muscle jumps in his jaw.

‘Consider this fair warning,’ he grinds out eventually, towering over Aziraphale and seeming like nothing so much as an indignant peacock. ‘Stay out of my way in future.’

Aziraphale opens his mouth to argue, probably something about it being _him_ who accosted _them_ , but Anthony grabs his arm and steers him away before he can get the words out.

‘That,’ he hisses, somewhere between furious, awed and terrified, ‘was the most stupid thing you have ever done in your life.’

‘How would you know?’ Aziraphale tugs his arm gently out of Anthony’s grip and tucks his wand back into his pocket. ‘We met yesterday.’

‘If you’d ever done anything more stupid, you’d be dead by now. I’m surprised you’re _not_. What were you _thinking_?’

‘I got us out of it, didn’t I?’

‘And got Octavius Selwyn out for your blood! Do you know who his parents _are_?’

‘Does it _matter_?’

‘Of – of _course_ it matters! You don’t know the influence he has –’ Anthony splutters in shock.

‘He was ordering around third years. I can imagine.’

‘So you decided to _antagonise_ him? I cannot _believe_ you!’

‘He was threatening you.’

‘And what are you? My own personal guardian angel?’

‘No. Just your friend.’

‘What happened to not getting involved? I was _handling_ it!’ Anthony wheels around, bringing them both to an abrupt stop. He is shouting now, and doesn’t care. He had thought Hogwarts would be an escape from this sort of minefield, not an invitation to drag even more people into it.

‘That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing!’ Aziraphale retorts furiously. ‘And there’s a difference between not wanting to be an Auror and just – just standing by while your friend gets attacked just because he’s a half decent human being!’

There is a moment of stunned silence. Then:

‘Only half decent?’ Anthony asks, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile.

‘Well,’ Aziraphale coughs, deflating a little, ‘like I said, we did only meet yesterday. I don’t know about the other half yet.’

Another pause, longer this time, as Anthony considers how to respond to that. Eventually, he just shakes his head.

‘Whatever you say, angel,’ Anthony smirks and sets off again towards the castle, the hot flare of fear in his chest dying down to a dull flicker. For now.

‘Don’t call me that,’ says Aziraphale, following him.

00000

History of Magic passes mostly without a hitch. They sit at the very back of the classroom so that anyone who wants to make trouble has to actually turn around to do it, and studiously ignore the few who do. Professor Binns is supremely unhelpful. It seems unlikely he would notice if the entire class started dancing a conga around his desk, but at least his droning voice has the effect of sending half the class to sleep within the first quarter of an hour. Even Aziraphale, who was initially fascinated, only lasts twenty minutes before succumbing to ennui. He twirls his quill around his fingers and stares vacantly at the blackboard. He gave up trying to get Anthony to concentrate within the first five minutes, and his friend has recently begun doodling in the margin of his textbook. Aziraphale, who would normally be horrified by this treatment of books, doesn’t even notice.

His first full day at Hogwarts has not gone at all to his expectations. He has a feeling this should bother him more than it does.

Truth be told, he had not really expected to make friends at all, at least not this quickly. He has always been quite content with his own company, as self-sufficient as any eleven-year-old can be, and more than happy to be left to his own devices for hours or days at a time. 

Having been brought up entirely within the wizarding world, though, he has a handful of acquaintances at the school already and probably would have expected, if he had given it any thought, to find his friends among them. There is Annalise Heyman, a fellow Gryffindor whose parents have been friendly with the Stroulgers for years – and who was one of those already throwing himself and Anthony filthy looks before the end of the Sorting. Mitul Chowdhury, from Ravenclaw, he has met once or twice in the past, although they have never exactly hit it off. Moira Macmillan, also in Ravenclaw, had seemed even on the one occasion they had crossed paths before to be a girl of extremes when it came to friendship or otherwise. He had not felt he had fallen into the friendship category. And of course everyone knows of Octavius Selwyn’s family.

So… okay, perhaps not then. But even so he would never have considered that his first – so far his only – friend at the school would be a Crowley, of all people. From Anthony’s dark hints, Aziraphale gets the impression that there is rather more than a pinch of truth in the rumours about his family. Even with the little there had been to go on before, had Anthony mentioned his last name at their first meeting Aziraphale would instantly have been on his guard. For this reason he is extremely glad that the other boy had the foresight to keep quiet about it. He has truly never hit it off with someone his own age quite this quickly before; even on the rare occasions he has found enough in common with them to have a reasonable conversation. And yet… he doesn’t actually seem to have a great deal in common with Anthony at all, though he knows it is early days yet, quite apart from their vastly different family connections. It is all very strange. It is also, in some ways, the happiest Aziraphale has ever been.

His parents would be horrified.

00000

Aziraphale and Anthony are among the first to arrive at dinner, in the twin hopes that it will mean they do not have to fight for a space and that they will finish before the Great Hall starts to fill with earnest. 

They are so caught up in conversation that they don’t appear to notice that the seats on both sides of them and even several across the table are occupied almost entirely by seventh years.

00000

Aziraphale dreams – though he has never actually done it in his waking life – of flying, and has forgotten the dreams entirely by morning.

00000

The next day is Saturday. Most of the student body, including all of the Gryffindor first year boys, take this as an opportunity to have a good lie-in, even though they have only had one day of lessons so far. Aziraphale and Anthony are the last to wake.

Actually, Anthony is the last to wake. By the time he opens his eyes, Aziraphale is already sitting up in bed – albeit still in his pyjamas – and reading a book. He glances towards Anthony – who is shielding his eyes from the sun as he pulls the curtain aside from his four-poster – without moving his head.

‘You’re awake, then,’ Aziraphale says calmly, ‘I was beginning to think you were in a coma or something.’

‘Ha, ha,’ replies Anthony sarcastically, though groggily. ‘What time is it?’ 

Aziraphale shrugs and turns a page. ‘Somewhere between dawn and midday,’ he replies.

‘Very helpful.’

‘I try,’ Aziraphale flashes a smug smile at his friend over the top of his book, and Anthony makes a face. Then he freezes.

‘Hang on – is that –?’

‘Is that what?’ Aziraphale asks, all innocence as he closes the book, keeping his finger in place so as not to lose his page. He sets it, face down, on his lap. Anthony’s eyes narrow, although this could just be because they are still struggling to adjust to the light levels in the dormitory.

‘Is that – _Quidditch Through the Ages_?’ He sounds both dumbfounded and smug, then indignant. ‘Is that _my copy_ of _Quidditch Through the Ages _?’__

____

____

‘Of course not,’ says Aziraphale, taking a bookmark from his bedside table and slotting it neatly into place. ‘It’s mine.’

‘What on earth are _you_ doing with a copy of that? I thought you weren’t interested in flying.’

‘I’m not,’ Aziraphale assures him, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and starting to get up, ‘but flying lessons _are_ compulsory, and I thought it would be better to know the theory than go in blind.’

‘But –’

‘I thought you wanted me to learn to fly?’

‘I did, but –’

‘Well, what’s the problem then?’

‘I – nothing,’ says Anthony. He shakes his head, ‘Nothing, never mind. So, what are we going to do today?’ 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested, I looked it up before I started writing this series and 01/09/1977 was actually a Thursday, which does (assuming their lessons start straight away, which they seem to in the books) mean that their first day of lessons is a Friday. I’m not just being strange by writing it like that.


End file.
